


Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

by BeatrizCaelum



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: And Jim... is so tired, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce Wayne is Dead, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Batman, Gen, More tags to be added, Multi, Plot what plot there's only dialogue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-02-27 12:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18739240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeatrizCaelum/pseuds/BeatrizCaelum
Summary: Batfamily one-shots collection. Mostly angst.[I.] Something is constant in Gotham. One bat. Jim Gordon is sure of that. Many birds, but only one bat.  So who's wearing the cowl tonight?[II.] Damian thinks of legacies that have nothing to do with the night.





	1. (we) go way back

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen (and read) so many fantastic fics that are batfam one-shots that I just had to try it too! It's probably not as good as everyone else's, but, hey. I could be sad that my cake is not as good as their cake OR I could be happy that the audience has - gasp! - two cakes now. Well, a bit more than that.
> 
> The title is from the beautiful poem "Do not go gentle into that good night" [Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 53], for these one-shots will be consisted mostly of angst. Or so I plan. 
> 
> English is not my first language, so please tell me if you see any mistakes! Or anything that sounds weird or too stiff to your ears. It's very important to be that everyhing flows well.

The change means something else this time.

They’ve been there before, Jim and the Dark Knight. A few times. The process is quite simple and he doesn’t get a warning beforehand. Gotham’s Police Department gets a call when the color of the sky speaks of an ungodly hour, but Jim is always, always awake; it is not a call that sounds like any other — and they get many every night, many as in _too many_ —, because it’s Batman’s voice on the other end of the line; someone was doing something bad out there and now is tied up ready for you to pick up, Jim, you might want to get a look at this one.

Sometimes, it’s an outlaw that is connected to a bigger case and Batman wants Jim to make sure he doesn’t bribe any of the other cops; sometimes, it’s a person who needs mental health care and Batman doesn’t trust that anyone else will actually pay attention to that once they’ve been arrested. (In his line of work and in this city more than anywhere else, honesty is something rare. But Jim does not feel special for being an exception; he feels old.)

Jim gets there and the _Robin_ part of _Batman and Robin_ feels foreign. He needs a second look. And a third, and a fourth, and a fifth, trying to make sense of the new kid as the days and then the years, as well, go by.

Of course, Batman never says anything first.

“That’s a new one,” Jim might have said once or twice.

“He’s staying,” the usual answer, nothing more.

When the first Robin disappeared and suddenly Buldhaven’s thugs needed to worry about a young hero called _Nightwing,_  Jim’s chest felt tight. The new addition to the crime-fighting business — a bit more abrasive, too quick to snarl at the cops, but sweet nonetheless — didn’t quite ease his worries for the first one, no, but he did feel relieved that Batman still had someone to light up the night.

(Until he didn’t anymore, and Jim waited, waited for a new vigilante identity to appear, but no one came.)

After what it felt too long, there was the third one — and, for a few weeks, a blond girl that he only saw from afar —, much different from his predecessor, quieter and with too-sharp observations, who stands by Batman’s side to this day.

Or so he thought.

“That’s a new one,” Jim says, looking at Robin ordering the cops around. His voice is more commanding that Batman’s, his posture belongs to a prince in a fairytale, his skin is the darkest one so far, his suit is everything but brightly-colored, his hair faintly reminds Jim of a hedgehog and, for Heaven’s sake, he does not shut his goddamn mouth.

Not like the first Robin, mind you, who would try to chat even the thugs’ ears off, who would crack the corniest jokes to see if he could get Jim to smile when the night was difficult. This Robin speaks as if the others are in the wrong for not reading his mind in the first place and immediately doing as he wishes them to.

Batman’s eyes follow Jim’s before fixing on a random spot on the rooftop closest to the one they are. Now, Jim wouldn’t say he’s good at reading Batman, because, well, no one is and no one is supposed to be, but their mostly-silent trust goes back decades. And, right now, something tells Jim that Batman wants to leap off into the darkness and leave this new kid behind.

“He’s....,” Jim coughs, frowning. “He seems quite _assertive.”_  

Robin is now explaining to every and each cop why they are fools and highly incompetent at doing their jobs. Even the man they’re arresting, although handcuffed, seems very close to trying to make some kind of permanent damage to his ears so he doesn’t have to listen to this anymore.

“That he is, Commissioner.” Batman murmurs.

Jim’s breath catches to his throat as soon as the words fade out.

“What happened to him?” Jim asks, searching through his pockets for a cigarette. They’re empty. A whispered curse escapes his lips.

“He hasn’t been with me for long,” is the answer. “The ones who raised him... didn’t do a good job.”

“No,” Jim stares at Batman, “what happened to Batman?”

If _Jim_ of all people is able to catch how the man wearing the cowl tenses up, that means he touched the kind of wound that no one is supposed to know of. Raw, raw skin under the black Kevlar-plated suit. The man’s jaw clenches and Jim isn’t sure if he’s breathing or not.

Jim closes his eyes, trying to place himself in time, in space, in this world’s abnormal occurrences — which one was it? Which one was goodbye? Somewhere, somewhen, perhaps in the city’s heart, perhaps not even in this very country, the Dark Knight could’ve got lost, captured, or worse. How would he know?

“You had me making a double-take at the way you said _Commissioner,_ ” he says after a minute or so has passed. “After some years, whenever it’s just the two of us, he started calling me Jim.”

The man’s grunt is as short-lived as any other. Worse than that, is noncommittal. As if he's saying, _I could be Batman, you cannot be sure of anything._ But Jim is sure. Jim is sure that this man’s shoulders are not as broad as Batman’s; that his voice, although probably trained to sound like it, is not as deep; that his lips aren’t as thin; that these aren’t simply shadows and his skin is olive-colored instead of white; that this man doesn’t stand as tall.

Jim supposes the man is not an impostor of any sort. The other vigilantes wouldn't let something like this happen, no. It must be someone close to Batman. Trusted. Precious, even.

He’s… Ah. Pixie boots. No pants. Started it all. Isn’t he?

Jim’s voice drops impossibly lower. “Tell me, son.”

Something shatters. “Commissioner, you know I can’t —”

“Is he coming back?” He asks nonetheless. Nightwing sighs.

“No.”

“No,” Jim repeats gruffly. Older than ever. “I see.”

Robin is calling out for them now, cheeks puffed out in indignation, as most of the cops have abandoned him in order to check on the few injured civilians working at the wrong place, at the wrong hour, which, in Gotham, is anyplace, anytime. Robin is calling, calling, angrier by the second — is that a _sword?_  —, but Nightwing is not moving a single muscle.

Jim wouldn’t be moving in his place, either. Heavy cape.

“Did he suffer?”

Nightwing looks old, too. “I don’t know.”

Jim looks at his feet that, by now, should be already stepping on the cigarette he should have brought, if life itself liked justice as much as the man standing in front of him.

He wonders if there are candles anywhere in his apartment. Hasn’t prayed in… years.

“Alright,” he whispers. “Take care of the kid. He sure needs it.”

A single nod. “Goodnight, Jim.”

“Goodnight, Batman.”


	2. future vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian thinks of legacies that have nothing to do with the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !please, tell me if there are any English mistakes!  
> if you wanna chat, I'm at holyhikari on tumblr~

Gotham stirs up at the crack of dawn, but Robin does not go home.

He looks down, tugging absently-minded at the golden R on his uniform. His chest hurts. His chest hurts and he should get going, he really should, but he can’t. He does not care for secrets, for time, for discipline, not even for the night he just survived through. 

A shadow settles its hands on his shoulders, but Damian doesn’t greet Father.

The cat does, though.

“He’s very young,” Father’s voice is flat as the greatness of the cowl makes it be, but Damian can sense his worry. There’s a question hanging from his lips.

“I’m not keeping _her_ ,” he shakes the hand off gently to crouch and run his gloved fingers through the cat’s fur. She meows again, lower. “I’m aware that I’ve already adopted too many of them.”

“I’d say,” Father mumbles, “that, for you, there’s no such thing _as too_ many pets.”

Damian thinks of each and every one of them. He’s eighteen, almost nineteen years old, and has adopted more than twenty animals into the Wayne family. He saved many more, though. They all have a home of their own, now.

He frowns, letting she lick at his wrist. “They’re my _companions_.”

“I know.”

They watch the cat blink up at them with her only eye, a blue that is far too bright for the rest of her. Grey fur all over. Damian caresses this color and this future goodbye, smoothing it down, untangling some dirt from it as carefully as he can. She is too thin, of course she is.

“Is she hurt?” Father asks.

“Some scratches.”

“Hmm.”

Damian does not wish to get up, but he doesn’t have the nerve to actually sit on the floor with Father towering over him from behind. Waiting. He remains crouched, each second eating at his insides.

Father clears his throat. “We can drop her at an adoption center if you want.”

Damian’s chest still hurts, but it’s warmer now. “This is a wise decision.”

Another meow. Damian sucks in a ragged breath and sits down.

“ _Robin_ ,” Father calls, urgent. “Son?”

He closes his eyes, listening to the sound of Batman’s cape dragging along the alley’s dirty floor. Damian knows the Batmobile is near without a single scratch, he knows that the fact that he darted towards here at the first meow doesn’t mean weakness, he knows they had a decent night. He knows Father just pointed out a good solution.

But he can see the cat’s ribs and this feels like failure.

“Robin,” he hears it again, the worry.  Batman sits on the ground in front of him and he almost, almost smiles when the cat jumps into his lap to nibble at his gloves.

“Until when?” Damian whispers.

Father frowns too often. “Until wh—”, he mouths, lips twitching. “Ah.”

“I…”, he tries. “I want to do more.”

“Do you want to move on from Robin?” Father asks as the cat climbs his arm. “You’re of age already. Maybe it’s… time.”

“You look tired,” Damian raises an eyebrow at his posture. Father smirks, but he doesn’t look any younger doing it.

“Not tired enough for you to be Batman already.”

Damian clicks his tongue, not hiding his amusement. “I know.”

Father gently pries the cat off his shoulders, sighing at her hiss. He handles her to Damian. “What do you need, son?”

“I do think I want to move on from Robin,” he pets behind the cat’s ears — to him, she’s now Sapphire. Damian thinks of some names for him as well. Flamebird. Mockingjay. Even Nightwing, if Richard wants to rest, if Richard thinks he’s worth it.

“But?” Father pushes.

“ _But_ I also want to do more as Damian Wayne.”

Sapphire boops his knee with her nose as if she’s agreeing.

“Isn’t college too slow for you, son?”

“Most things are.”

Father grunts, looking past him. Damian might be almost twenty, but his family sometimes stumbles upon questions they still aren’t sure they want to ask. _What did the League make you know?_

 _Too much,_ Damian answers in his head.

“I already have all the knowledge I need to work as the best veterinary surgeon of this country,” he says. “But I can’t legally use it. I want a degree.”

“I think that’s great,” Father’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.  “But you look unsettled.”

He rests his hand on Sapphire’s head, “I don’t know how — I don’t know if I can.”

“I’m taking you’re not insecure about your _skills.”_

All of Damian scars ache as if they’re fresh. “Whenever I dedicate myself to a cause, I fear I’ll turn it into violence.”

“You wouldn’t hur—”

“Perhaps not. But I’m not sure if I’m able to cure, either.” He bites his lower lip. “I’m ready to work my way to become Batman. I know how. I know what awaits me. But a _civilian_ occupation?”

“It might be good to you,” he huffs. “To take your mind off… this.”

Damian scowls. “‘This’? This is y— our _mission_. Our life.”

“I’d rather not watch you live only to be Batman,” Father’s expression hardens. “I’ve been there. It’s... lonely.”

Damian’s heart is not into his question, “But is it effective against the enemies? Does it protect the city?”

“You’re not a tool for this world to be safer,” Father spats. “You own them nothing.”

Before Damian can process the words, Sapphire meows loudly at Father’s tone, ready to defend her new human. He glares down at her and she doesn’t back down.

Damian does smile this time.  “I’m keeping her. She will be keeping me, as well.”

“I was already thinking of a name,” Father admits. “Since the moment you ran here.”

“It’s Sapphire.”

“And we all know she’s not the last one you’ll take in,” he mumbles as he gets up. The weight of his declaration, the weight of his love, doesn't follow: it stays with Damian and the new member of their family and all they still can live for.

“Are Richard and the others still betting on how many I’ll adopt?”

“Yes,” Father says. “Cass is winning. _We need a bigger Cave._ ”

He’s already walking to the Batmobile when Damian gets up, more at peace than when he sat down. Sapphire is following him even before he calls her.

The sun has come out now, and Robin is glad he’s Damian Wayne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't need another fic in which Damian is going to become a vet? Too bad. (Please note that, since he's older here, he talks a bit less formally and is more open.) 
> 
> This one ends happier than the other. The fluff inside me is stronggggggger.
> 
> The cat is named after Steven Universe's Sapphire! She also has only one, big blue eye. And she has future vision. Damian is thinking of the future. Hence the chapter title. (One might say I am TOO self-indulgent. They're right.) 
> 
> I'm having fun with this and I'm already planning the next ones.
> 
> <3 see ya

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna chat, I'm holyhikari on tumblr. See ya!


End file.
